No Day but Today
by Lyrical Soliloquy
Summary: Newsies/Rent crossover. Many, many thanks to captivatedbythesky for her beta-ing skills! Slash.
1. Rent

**Rent**

"I'm not going to pay this!" Jack threw down the eviction notice in disgust. "It's ridiculous. Didn't Specs say that he would let us live here rent-free anyway?"

Skittery looked up blearily from his battered guitar and shrugged. "What does it matter? Eviction or pay rent," he grunted.

"It does matter! We can't pay this. And I, for one, am not going to. As if we didn't have enough to worry about, with all these breadlines and deadlines," Jack said, turning away from the bill on the table back to his notebook. His empty notebook. Frowning in displeasure, he muttered to himself, "How can I document real life when it gets more and more fictional?" Sighing, Jack swiveled in his old chair to face his roommate again. "Look, Skitts, it does matter. That douchebag told us when he bought the building that he would let us stay without paying him. He's rich enough as it is."

The guitar in his lap was moved to the sagging old leather couch as Skittery stood up. "Jack, I know Specs as well as you do. Yeah, he sold us out. Yeah, he treated us badly. But that's life, you know?" He moved to a dusty mirror hanging on the wall, surrounded by old concert posters and newspaper clippings, skirting the dingy mini-fridge and long coffee table, and tried to fix his hair.

"No. I don't know."

"Damnit, Jack!" Skittery snapped, turning around to face his friend, "Yeah, you do know. You saw what happened with me and –" He stopped, and lowered his voice, "You saw what happened with me and Sw- Swifty." Skittery stumbled over the name of his ex.

Jack blinked. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah. But Specs was our friend. He was in the same boat as us before he met _Pie Eater_," Jack spat out the words, "and now he's loaded, and can't remember what it was like when he was one of us. But he should still remember that we live here, and be man enough to follow through on his promises."

Skittery trudged to his seat and sat down again. "I guess you're right. But still, I think we should pay. We don't know if Specs has changed enough to kick us out, even if it's Christmastime and all. He's different than he was when he was here." He scooped up the guitar and put his feet on the coffee table.

"He couldn't have changed that much."

"You never know. I changed a lot when I met Swifty. I didn't realize how deep in the drugs I was until I tried to stop, after he –"

"You don't need to talk about it, Skitts. I know that it still hurts."

Skittery paused, both grateful to his roommate that he had interrupted and slightly confused by how observant and thoughtful Jack was being. "Thanks."

"Don't even worry. I –" Jack was cut off by the buzzing of the phone. He got up, hurdled over an ancient armchair, and answered it with a tentative, "Hello?"

"Jack!" A friendly voice said from the other end.

"Mush! I take it you're back in town?"

"Got that right. Hey, throw down the key, wouldja?"

"Sure thing. See you in a sec."

Jack hung up with a smile. "Hey, guess what?" he said, brightening. "Mush is home!"

Skittery grinned back and they both rushed to their window to look down on the snow-dusted street below their building, where a solitary figure in a long jacket stood waving up at them. "Merry Christmas!" The figure yelled.

"Welcome home, Mush!" Skittery called, while Jack waved back and tossed something to Mush. "Come on up!"

Mush caught the keys that Jack had thrown and shouted his thanks. His long jacket brushed the snow as he moved around to the door. Skittery and Jack withdrew from the chilly air and grinned at each other. "It'll be good to have Mush back in the house," Jack said.

"I'll say. Everything's better when Mush is here." Skittery moved back to the sagging couch and flopped down next to his shabby guitar. He glanced at it, and a scowl creased his forehead. "I might as well put this away," he said angrily. "I can't write when the chords sound wrong. I'm not getting anywhere tonight."

Jack raised his eyebrows questioningly, as if wondering when Skittery had gotten anywhere in his song recently. Ever since Swifty had died, Skittery had nearly stopped writing music. Jack knew that his friend was desperate to write something that would outlive him, but hadn't yet found the right notes. "You'll find something at some point, you know," Jack said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Skittery grunted, packing his beat-up guitar into its equally beat-up case and shoving it under the table.

Jack sighed and turned again to his notebook. The blank page seemed to be laughing at him and his inability to write a decent news story. He sighed again, leaned back in his old office chair and closed his eyes.

"You'll find something at some point, you know," Skittery said, mocking Jack with his own words as he came up behind him. Jack opened his eyes to glare at his roommate.

"That was unnecessary."

"Yeah. In case you haven't noticed, that doesn't usually stop me," Skittery said, taking Jack's notebook.

"Hey!" Jack jumped to his feet. "Don't touch that!"

"Why? There's nothing in it."

"I never touch your music, do I?"

"Maybe you should. I'm obviously not doing it right."

"Shut up, Skitts. You're better at writing music than I am at writing news."

Skittery tossed the empty notebook to Jack. "Eh. I don't have to rely on what's actually going on for my work."

Jack caught it, and set it down almost tenderly on the rickety desk. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you should be looking at what's going on around you for inspiration."

Skittery shrugged. "Like you said, I'll find something eventually."

Jack grimaced, and muttered, "Damn it's cold in here." He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold in some heat.

"Yeah? Well how can you get warmer when you can't feel your feet and there's nothing to burn?" Skittery scowled.

"There's plenty to burn," Jack said, gesturing at the wall. "Posters. Screenplays. Crappy news articles that I've written. Old music."

"Those will light up a mean blaze, Jack."

Jack nodded as Skittery started to rip things from the wall. Suddenly, he remembered Mush. Glancing towards the window, he asked, "Where's Mush? Shouldn't he have been here ages ago?"

"Dunno," Skittery shrugged again, piling paper memories into a metal garbage can. He lit the final page of a failed song with his lighter and threw it into the can. Warmth and light filled the small apartment as the fragile pages and posters burst into flame.

"Me neither. I sure hope he's all right, though."

Mush cowered against the cold alley wall, his blood staining the bricks behind him as he shook with cold, pain, and fear. The two dark figures had jumped on him as soon as he entered the alley, drawn on by what he thought were cries of pain. But it was only a ploy. The men had robbed him of what little he had, and left him there.

A tall shadow stretched across the rough ground and covered Mush with its oppressing shade. He whimpered softly and pressed into the hard wall behind him. The shadow stepped forward, and Mush tried to shrink away into the bricks. Then a voice said quietly, "You okay, honey?"

The shadow materialized into a smiling face, and Mush relaxed slightly as he gazed into the kind eyes. Well, eye. The left eye was covered by a patch, but not in a menacing way.

Mush found his voice, though it was still weak, and said, "I'm afraid so."

The other laughed. "Did they get anything?"

"Just my jacket. Sadly."

"But at least you're okay. I'm Blink." He smiled.

Mush looked Blink's face over. He couldn't see much due to the shadows of the buildings, but he was struck by the smooth planes and, well, beauty of what he could see. "Friends call me Mush," he said finally.

"Do I get to call you Mush then?" Blink smiled again, and lit up the dark alley.

Mush didn't answer, but he could feel a warm glow rising to his face. He laughed nervously.

"Don't worry, honey. Come on; we'll get you cleaned up, and I'll need to change. I have a Life Support meeting at nine-thirty." Blink rose from his crouch, and helped Mush to his feet.

"Life Support?"

Blink glanced at him, trying to gauge what his reaction would be in advance, and said, "This body provides a comfortable home for the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome."

Mush smiled briefly, happily, and replied, "So does mine."

Blink put his arm carefully around Mush's shoulders as he stepped closer. "Then we'll get along just great. Let's find you a coat, and maybe we'll have time to grab something to eat."

Before Mush could agree to Blink's plans like he wanted to, a small trickle of reality snuck into his mind. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully. "My friends are waiting."

Blink grinned. "The more the merrier, sugar. And," he added cheekily, "I don't take no for an answer."


	2. One Song Glory

**One Song Glory**

Jack stood up and stretched, reveling in the new warmth that filled his body. "Hey, so I'm going to go out. Try to find Mush, see if he's okay. Do you want to come? Maybe we can get some food," he said, pulling on his gloves.

Skittery had his guitar out again and was plucking absently at the strings. He stopped, and looked up to give Jack a withering glance. "Too bad they don't use the barter system any more. We could trade my empty wallet for pizza."

"Touché, and I'll take that as a no. Well, if you're sure, I'll be back soon." Jack turned to leave, and Skittery resumed his playing. Before he opened the door, Jack said quietly, "Take your AZT, Skittery."

Skittery snorted and looked away, back at his guitar. He heard the door swing shut as Jack left, and sighed. "I'll write one great song before I…" he murmured, and trailed off, fingers poised above the strings. He strummed a broken chord, and sighed when the notes twanged unpleasantly. Sighing again in frustration, he sat up from the couch and rubbed his temples. Angrily, he got up, pushed open the door, and stomped up the rickety stairs to the roof.

An icy blast of air hit him full force as he shoved his way out onto the roof. He grimaced, but plowed on. Skirting the piles of dirty snow, Skittery made his way over to a ragged faux-leather chair. He brushed it off and sat down heavily on it, dragging his guitar into his lap.

"One song," he whispered into the cold wind. "One song and I'll have my glory."

Suddenly, Skittery's mind flashed back to the day he met Swifty. He was playing a gig at a dingy bar, and through the haze of smoke and wildly dancing people their eyes met. After the gig, they had talked. They hit it off immediately, and one thing led to another. Skittery hadn't realized what he was getting into. He was already a druggie; one had to be to have the energy to play show after show after show. But Swifty was hardcore, using heroin, cocaine, and even meth a few times. Neither of them had known what sharing a needle to shoot up would do.

"Damn it!" Skittery cried, jumping to his feet and slamming his hands into the cold brick wall behind him. "Damn it," he repeated, and sank to the ground. "I don't want to remember this! One song, to redeem this empty life, and I won't have to remember anymore." Skittery put his head in his hands, and tried, unsuccessfully, to smother the rising tide of memory.

When Swifty discovered that he was HIV-positive, he didn't handle it well. Skittery had tried to console him, telling him that it would be okay. But Swifty didn't believe him, and committed suicide. Skittery found him in a pool of his own blood, some still spilling from the deep slices in his wrists, and something in him had cracked. He knew that he was HIV-positive as well, and he resolved to get off the drugs and stay away from the bars and clubs that he had frequented before. No matter what he felt, he knew that he couldn't live with the guilt of infecting someone else. His band had fallen apart, and slowly Skittery lost everything that he had been living for. That had been almost a year ago.

Sitting up, memories fading, Skittery tipped his head back to stare at the smog-obscured sky. "I'll find my glory in a true song. I'll find it before this virus takes hold," he promised. "I'll find it, and then there will be no need to endure anymore."

Skittery gazed into the sky for a moment longer, then rose to his feet and picked up his guitar. He tramped back down the stairs into his and Jack's chilly apartment. Silently, he set his guitar against the couch and started to gather up some more posters. He was interrupted by a soft knock on the hard metal door. Skittery sighed and trudged over to tug open the heavy door. "What did you forget?" he asked, almost angrily.

But instead of Jack standing before him, Skittery saw a very attractive young man leaning against the door frame with a candle in his hand. "Got a light?" The young man smiled at him.

Skittery blinked. "I know you," he said, confused. The man did look familiar. "You're… hey, you're shivering!"

The man shrugged. "They turned off my heat." He walked smoothly past Skittery into the apartment. "So could you light my candle for me?"

Skittery couldn't tear his eyes from the man, and didn't answer.

"What are you staring at?"

"Oh! Um, nothing." Skittery startled, and half-smiled nervously. "So, you look familiar." He stepped back from the doorway and fumbled for the matchbox on the counter behind him. Stilling his shaky hands, he reached out and lit the candle.

The man closed his eyes and moved closer to the flame. Suddenly, he stumbled backwards a step. Skittery sprang to his side, dodging the counter's sharp corner. "Are you okay? Can you make it?"

The man smiled again, regaining his balance. "I'm fine. I just haven't eaten a lot today. Anyway… what?" His blonde brows arched questioningly at Skittery.

Skittery turned his head away. He realized, too late, that he had been staring again. "Nothing. Your smile reminded me of –"

"I always 'remind people of'. Who is he?" The blonde man rolled his eyes.

"He died." Skittery said shortly. "His name was, well, it doesn't matter." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Swifty again.

"Oh! It's, uh, out again…" Skittery opened his eyes and saw his visitor frowning at the candle. "Sorry about your friend. Could you, um, light my candle again, please?"

"Uh, sure. Hey, watch out for the wax. It's dripping." Skittery shook his head, forcing thoughts of his ex from his mind.

"Oh, it doesn't bother me. I like it between my –" The man touched Skittery's hand gently as he grabbed for the candle.

"Fingers!" Skittery said automatically, snapping his head up. "Yeah, I figured. So, um, goodnight." He blushed and looked away awkwardly.

The man winked at him and started for the door. About halfway out, he turned suddenly. The candle flickered out for the third time. "Damn! I think I dropped my stash."

Skittery didn't respond for a moment, watching his visitor search. "You know, I think I've seen you before, when I used to go out. Hey, you're candle's out."

"Damn," the man said again. "I know that I had it when I came in. It's pure, too." He walked around the small apartment. "Is it on the floor?" He knelt, still looking.

"The floor?" Skittery asked, confused again.

"They say that I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?"

"What?" Skittery's eyes open wide in surprise.

"You're staring again." The man glanced up from the floor and grinned.

"Oh no," Skittery groaned. "I mean, you do have a nice…" He trailed off, gaze lingering a beat too long. "I mean –"

"Yeah?"

"You look familiar."

"Like your dead boyfriend?"

"A little. Only when you smile. I'm positive that I've seen you somewhere else." Skittery reluctantly joined the man in his searching.

"Do you go to Club 82? I dance there."

"That's it! They used to tie you up, right?"

The man sat up and glanced ruefully at Skittery. "Hey, it's a living."

Skittery smirked at him, amused. "Sorry. I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe if we lit the candle again, we could find my stuff," he said, still looking around desperately.

Skittery did as the man asked, but didn't resume his searching for the drugs. "Why don't you forget that stuff?"

"Why would I do that? Sometimes I like to, you know, feel good."

"But you look so young."

"I am. So are you. Everyone is, honestly. I'm just born to be bad." He stood and winked at Skittery.

"Once, I was born to be bad too," Skittery said, staring out the window. "I used to shiver like you." He looked the blonde man over.

"I told you already, they shut off my heat!"

"I used to sweat like that."

The man scowled. "I have a cold."

"Uh huh." Skittery was skeptical. "I used to be a junkie, too. I know what it's like, trust me." When he glanced away, the light of the candle drew Skittery's eye to a small package lying half-buried by the sagging couch. "Oh, hey! Here it –" He stopped himself, but it was too late.

"You found it?" The man stood up, looking eager.

"Oh, no, sorry, false alarm. It was just a candy bar wrapper," Skittery said, tucking the small bag into his back pocket.

The man started towards him, holding the candle. Skittery snuffed it out as, with his free hand, the man tried to reach for his stash.

"What the hell did you do that for?" The man recoiled, grimacing angrily.

"Sorry. As far as you know, it was an accident." Skittery couldn't believe that he was flirting again. He sat down heavily on the couch.

"So will you light it again?"

"Can't. That was my last match."

"Well, thank God for the moon then. Our eyes will have to adjust." The man moved closer, sitting down next to him and reaching over Skittery to set the candle on the end table, his anger forgotten. Their hands brushed, and Skittery flinched.

"Your hands are cold," he said, by way of explanation.

"So are yours." Blinking blonde hair from his eyes, the man leaned back.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Skittery said, "So… I'm Skittery."

"They call me Dutchy."

Another moment passed, and Dutchy rose to his feet. Skittery jumped up as well. "Maybe I'll see you around, Skittery. Tonight was fun." He smiled.

"Uh, yeah. I enjoyed it, too."

Dutchy's brilliant grin widened, and suddenly he reached around and snatched the small plastic bag from Skittery's pocket. He turned to leave. "Thanks for the light," he said as he paused at the door. He winked before he walked away.

Skittery stood, stunned, for a moment before calling, "Yeah, no problem," He moved to the doorway. "No problem at all."

For the first time in nearly a year, Skittery smiled.


	3. Today 4 U

Today 4 U

Skittery awoke the next morning to the obnoxious ringing of the phone. He stumbled from his room and reached for the receiver, but Jack's hand came out of nowhere and stopped him. "Don't you dare answer that," Jack warned. "I'll bet you anything that it's my parents."

Skittery shrugged, and moved away from the phone to lean against the battered counter. It rang three more times before it went to the answering machine. "Jack? It's Ma," a shrill voice said. "Are you screening your calls?"

Jack rolled his eyes when Skittery looked at him. "Told you," he said, and started to make coffee.

"Well, maybe you're out and about. I just wanted to say that your father and I love you, Jacky." Jack shot an embarrassed glance at Skittery, and glared at the phone as his mother continued, "I hope you like the hot plate we sent you! Just don't leave it on when you leave the house. Anyway, I love you and Happy Holidays!" The phone buzzed once, and Jack brought his hand to his forehead.

"You know what, Skittery? Sometimes I wonder why I'm still living here, with no heat and no job. And then _she _calls, and I remember."

Skittery snorted in amusement, and grabbed some mugs from the countertop. He set them down on the table, and picked up the day's newspaper.

"Hey!" Skittery turned at the sound of Jack's voice. "What's that?"

Written in the frost on the window were the words, 'X-mas brunch, just us? -Dutchy', and an arrow pointing down to the apartment below. Skittery walked towards the writing. Jack followed, and peered at the window.

"Dutchy… isn't he a dancer at Club 82?"

"Yeah. He lives downstairs."

"So are you going?"

Skittery shook his head. "No, I couldn't."

"Come on, Skittery," Jack said, "You haven't –"

Skittery was saved from listening to Jack chew him out by the sound of the apartment door opening.

"Merry Christmas!" A cheerful voice called.

"Mush?" Jack said, staring at his other roommate.

"Here are your keys back," Mush said, tossing them to Jack with one hand. The other hand held a large bucket.

"Yeah, fourteen hours later!" Jack and Mush embraced warmly. "What happened to you? Are you all right?"

Mush pulled away. "Are you kidding? I've never been better. Here," he said, shoving the bucket into Jack's arms. He walked across the room to the counter, and nodded pleasantly to Skittery.

"Oh, hi!" Skittery said, surprised. He had been thinking about Dutchy.

Mush stopped and gave Skittery a skeptical look. "Oh, hi?" He repeated, dumping his shoes on the ground. "I've been gone for seven months and all you can say is, 'oh, hi'?" Skittery smiled weakly and gave Mush a hug.

"It's good to have you back, Mush," Skittery said.

Mush backed up and looked Skittery over. "You know what you need, Skitts?" Skittery shook his head warily. Mush grinned. "Some Stoli!" He procured a bottle from the bucket that he had handed to Jack.

Jack's eyes stretched wide. "You struck gold at MIT!" he gasped.

Mush shook his head. "Nah. They expelled me, for my theory of actual reality," he said as he unscrewed the top and poured out three glasses. "So I came home." He smiled, and raised his cup. "Merry Christmas."

"Cheers," said Jack, half-smiling.

"Welcome home," Skittery murmured, clanking his cup with Mush's.

Each man drained his cup in one swig. As Mush finished, he grinned again, "Guess what? I got a job at NYU."

Jack's eyes widened again. "So that's how you can afford to splurge on us!" He threw his arm companionably over Mush's shoulders. "Good 'ol Mush, always looking out for his friends."

Mush wiggled out away from Jack. "Nope, although I do like playing Santa. Sit down," he said, and moved towards the door.

Skittery and Jack exchanged looks, and sat down slowly on the leather couch. "What's going on, Mush?" Skittery asked hesitantly.

"Gentlemen," Mush announced, grabbing the doorknob, "Please allow me to introduce our benefactor this fine Christmas Day. Blink Dumott-Schunard!" Mush pulled open the door and stepped back to reveal a tall man wearing a short blonde wig, a Santa jacket, striped tights, a pair of tall black boots, and a sparkling red eye-patch over his left eye. His dazzling smile filled the room.

Mush grinned back, and quickly dashed across the room to the open seat on the couch. Blink sauntered into the apartment, a fan of money in each hand, and smiled again. "Today for you, tomorrow for me," he announced, and tossed Jack and Skittery a wad of cash each. "Merry Christmas," Blink added, before flouncing over to Mush and sitting down on his lap.

Jack and Skittery were stunned. Slowly, Jack felt the money in his hand and muttered, "Where did you get this?"

"I earned it."

"On the street?" Jack was incredulous.

Blink shrugged, a small smile on his face. "It was my lucky day. A lady in a limo drove up and asked me if I would do her a tiny little favor."

"What was the favor?" Skittery asked cautiously.

"Well, she says to me 'Darling, be a dear and help me make my neighbor's dog… disappear.'" Blink winked and got up from Mush's lap.

"So I said that I would," Blink continued. "This Akita, Evita, just will not shut up!" He produced a pair of drumsticks from the large pockets of his coat. "But I thought that if I played long enough non-stop, that dog would breathe its last high-strung breath. The lady agreed, and said that she would pay me $1000 to get rid of this thing for her. Tax-free." He smiled. "Anyway, as sure as I am here, that dog is now in doggy hell. It took an hour of Evita in all her glory, but finally she barked herself to death. She fell off of a twenty-three story high rise." Blink giggled, and plopped back down on Mush, who was grinning happily.

Jack applauded. "Well, I'm happy to hear it! But how did you meet Mush?"

"I found him moaning and groaning in an alley, but I dressed his wounds and got him back on his feet," Blink answered, petting Mush's hair.

"You were mugged?" Jack demanded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Mush shrugged. "They didn't find anything worth taking, except my coat. But I'll get another one."

Skittery and Jack looked at each other. Slowly, Skittery said, "Well, you must not have been hurt that badly, then."

"Eh, it wasn't horrible. But it was a good thing that I was found so quickly," Mush said, gazing tenderly at Blink.

Blink beamed at him and wrapped his arms snugly around Mush's neck.

Just as Jack was about to speak, the phone buzzed angrily. Jack sighed and stood up, reaching for it. It jumped almost immediately to voicemail, and Jack recoiled when he heard the caller's voice.

"Hey, Jack, it's me. Spot."

"Oh no," Jack whispered. Skittery and Mush glanced at each other over Jack's head, and smirked.

"So, I need your help. I hired Race as my production manager, and he doesn't know what the hell he's doing."

"Big surprise," muttered Skittery.

"I just really need you to come down and give me a hand. You know that I hate asking for help, but…"

Mentally slapping himself, Jack grabbed the phone. "Hey Spot," he said grudgingly. "Yeah, I can come. I'll be there soon. Yeah, bye." Jack hung up and groaned. "Can you believe him? First he dumps me, then –"

"Wait what?" Mush said, jumping to his feet. "Spot dumped you?"

"Yes," Jack hissed. "He dumped me. For a lawyer named Racetrack."

Mush covered his mouth with his hand and tried to stifle his laugh. It didn't work. Soon Blink and Skittery both were laughing along with him.

"Hey, shut up. Now he wants me drag myself down there and help with sound equipment."

"Well, Jack, you could have said no," Mush offered, his giggles subsiding.

Jack flinched slightly. "Yeah, I know," he said reluctantly. "I just…" he trailed off.

Mush and Blink exchanged glances. "You still like him," Mush taunted.

"No I don't." Jack wrapped his scarf around his neck and shrugged into his jacket. "Seriously, I don't."

Blink chuckled. "Hey," he said to Mush, "We have to go. Remember?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you going?" Skittery asked from the couch.

"Life Support," Blink responded promptly.

"On Christmas?"

"Some people have nowhere else to go."

"Do you want to come, Skittery?" asked Mush.

Skittery shook his head. There was a moment of silence before Blink said, "Well, you should. And it's open to everyone, Jack, if you wanted to drop in too."

"All right. I'll be there after I save Spot's protest," Jack said, rolling his eyes.

"Protest?" Mush looked confused.

"Spot is convinced that our building needs to be protected from Specs and his money," Jack explained. "So he's staging a protest."

Mush grimaced, and moved towards the door. "Well, you have fun with that." He turned back. "Hey Skittery, don't stay inside all day. It's Christmas, after all," he said, then walked out into the stairwell.

Blink stayed for a moment longer, then waved shyly at Skittery and pranced after Mush. Skittery grinned, but it fell away as soon as the door closed.

"You should really consider doing something, Skitts," Jack said, pausing before he left.

Skittery didn't reply.

Jack sighed, and pushed open the door.

His shoes echoed loudly in the huge hall as Jack walked carefully across the bare floor. There were a few people doing various tasks in the room, but no one really seemed to notice him. He stopped in front of the large stage and called, "Um, hi? Spot asked me to come down here, and, er, help out?"

A short man in a long overcoat glanced up from a large stack of speakers. He scowled at Jack, and then opened his mouth slightly in shock. "You're Jack?" he asked angrily.

Jack hesitated, his brows furrowed. "Racetrack?"

Racetrack stared at him a moment longer, and then threw up his hands in disgust and turned away.

Steeling himself, Jack trudged up the stage stairs. "Spot said he would be here," he said, swinging his bag from his shoulders.

Race snorted and stepped away from him. "Don't hold your breath."

"Typical Spot, not showing up when he said he would," Jack muttered.

Racetrack stopped and spun around to face him. "I told him not to call you! I told him that I hired an engineer, and that there was no need for you to come. And damn it, he called you anyway."

Jack was stunned. He felt anger boiling up inside him, and he hoisted his bag again. "Well, it was nice to have met you anyway," he hissed under his breath, and started to stomp away.

"Wait." Jack stopped and snapped his head to the side, to glare at Race out of the corner of his eye.

Race scuffed the ground with one shoe. "The engineer is three hours late."

Despite his better judgment, Jack took a breath and turned around to tramped back up the stairs. "So," he said contemptuously, "What seems to be the problem, Racetrack?"

Race stared at him distrustfully, but said, "The samples won't delay, but the cable –"

Jack cut him off, already seeing what the problem was. "There's another way. Say something into the mike." He unwound his scarf from his neck and crouched next to the nearest speaker.

"Test one, two, three," Race said into the microphone.

Jack looked up from the speaker and shot a disdainful look at him. "Anything but that," he sneered, still angry.

He worked silently on the tangle of cords and wires for a moment. Race watched him, and said quietly, "This is weird." Jack knew that he wasn't referring to the sound problems.

"Very weird," Jack agreed heavily.

"I'm so mad that I don't know what to do," Race hissed, balling his hands into fists and stuffing them into his pockets.

"You're mad?" Jack said skeptically.

"Well, yeah. I'm fighting with microphones, it's freezing in here, and, to top it all off, I'm with you: my boyfriend's ex." Race ground his teeth and glared in Jack's general direction.

Jack laughed inwardly. "You feel like going insane? Want me to go get you some gasoline to drink?" he mocked.

"As a matter of fact," Race said, nodding slowly.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place for Jack. This was all Spot's doing. "Wait. I know this act. I call it the Tango: Spot Conlon." He stood up and leaned against the stage wall, smirking.

Race turned slightly, tossing him a strange look over one shoulder.

"Oh, I know exactly what's going on, Race. It's a dark, dizzying merry-go-round. He's keeping you dangling, and –"

"You're wrong," Race spat.

"— twisting your heart all up," Jack finished, as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"No!" Race insisted. "It's different with me."

"Oh, you toss and you turn because of those cold eyes burning into you, and you want him, but you can't, and you rebound…" Jack trailed off, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Race looked taken aback. "I think I know what you mean," he whispered. "The Tango: Spot Conlon."

Jack fought back the urge to snicker. "So tell me, Racetrack, has he ever called you 'pookie'?"

Race scowled at him. "Never. Why the hell would he do that, anyway?"

Jack ignored him. "Well, have you ever doubted a kiss or two, then?"

Race froze. Jack could tell that he had hit a nerve, but Race didn't respond. Instead, the shorter man asked, "Did you swoon when he walked into a room?" His eyes looked pleading.

Jack nodded, deciding that it would do no harm to tell the truth. "Every time." Well, there was no harm in improving the truth a bit, either.

"Did he flirt with other boys, too?"

Jack nodded again. "More than flirt, sometimes, if you know what I mean."

"Oh God, I'm getting nauseous." Race stiffened and closed his eyes. "Damn. Spot cheated."

"Of course," Jack agreed.

"I should just give him up."

"Nah. You have to look on the bright side," said Jack, standing up straight again and stretching his back.

"I'd fall for him still if I did," Race admitted, opening his eyes to stare at Jack.

"When you're dancing his tango, you don't stand a chance. Believe me, I understand," Jack said, his maliciousness fading as memories took over. He put a friendly hand on Race's shoulder. "I fell for him too."

"All I'm thinking now," muttered Race, shrugging away from Jack, "is that I might as well dance. I'll pretend to believe him when he tells me that he hasn't done anything, because there's no way I could leave him. I'll play dumb."

Jack nodded, wishing that he could have come to the same conclusion. "We love it when he's mean. Honestly, it's his most redeeming quality," he said, trying to make a joke.

Race chuckled quietly. "He can be so obscene, can't he?"

"That's the Tango: Spot Conlon for you." Jack turned away, and flipped a small switch on the speaker. "And you're patched."

Race stared, shocked. 'That's really all that needed to be done?"

"Yep. Good thing you don't have to pay me, eh?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

Jack grinned. "No problem."

Just then, the payphone in the corner of the room rang loudly. Race sprinted over to it and answered it. "Oh, hi Spot... Yeah, we're – did you just call me 'pookie'? Why did you…?" Race stared helplessly at Jack. Jack's grin widened, and he looked down at the ground in mock despair, shaking his head slowly. "No, don't worry about it… We're patched." Race hung up irritably, slamming the receiver down and glaring at it.

"Pookie," Jack said, smirking.

"Shut the hell up," hissed Race.

Jack didn't respond. Still smirking, he scooped up his bag and left the stage, feeling better than he had when he arrived.


	4. Life Support

**Life Support**

Jack shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he darted across the busy street. He kept his head low, pushing against the chilly breeze that whistled down between the tall buildings. As he neared the Community Center's orange double doors, he slowed, and glanced up and down the road. Though he knew that he was already late to the Life Support meeting, he wondered if Skittery had decided to come. He looked around, hoping against hope that he would see some sign of his roommate and friend. There was none.

Jack sighed, disappointed in Skittery. Try as he might, though, he couldn't bring himself to feel upset that Skittery hadn't shown up. _He would have just dragged everyone else down, _Jack thought pessimistically. Shrugging, he shoved his shoulder against the doors. They were heavier than he thought they would be, and he struggled for a moment before forcing his way through.

The plain welcome area was deserted. No receptionist stood behind the ancient-looking desk in the corner to greet him. At the end of a bare hallway, a wooden door with a construction-paper Christmas tree stood slightly ajar. Voices drifted from the room behind it, soft enough that Jack couldn't quite hear what they were discussing. Slowly, he walked forward and pressed on the door slightly, opening it just wide enough for him to slip quietly into the meeting.

"Well, I think that everyone's here. I'd like to welcome everyone to our Life Support meeting, and I think that we should begin by introducing ourselves." Jack crept past the rows of folding chairs to the front of the room, where a circle of people sat. The man who had spoken was tall, careworn, and solemn, his clothes baggy and threadbare.

"I'll start," the man said, standing. "I'm Paul."

"Steve." He sat stiffly, his wide-set brown eyes staring at nothing.

"My name's David," the next person said. He had curly brown hair and a surprisingly nice blue button-up shirt on.

The other five members of Life Support introduced themselves, and Jack smiled faintly at his friends when Blink and Mush spoke. Blink had shed the long blonde wig, and sat next to Mush looking oddly quiet and reserved. Jack put his bag down on a folding chair and began to unwrap his scarf. But his elbow brushed it and it clattered to the floor. Every person assembled jumped and turned to stare at him. Blink waved restrainedly, keeping his motions small.

Paul, the leader of the group, didn't seem fazed by this interruption. "And you are?" he asked calmly.

"Oh!" Jack was startled, and unprepared to answer questions. "I'm, um…" He trailed off. "Sorry for the, uh…" He glared at his disruptive bag, desperately searching for something to say. "I'm just here to... I don't have… I'm here with…" He looked to Blink and Mush for help, but they both smirked and glanced away. "Jack." He said finally. "I'm Jack."

Paul looked faintly amused. The other people simply gazed at him blankly.

"Do you mind if I sit in and take some notes?" Jack asked, recovering and indicating the notebook in his hand. He wasn't about to miss out on an opportunity for a story.

Slowly, the Life Support meeting's attendees shook their heads. Paul looked around at them, and back at Jack. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable," he said. "So, who would like to begin?" Paul turned his attention back to the group.

"Well, yesterday I went to the doctor," the man named David said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I found out that my T-cells were low."

Mush let out a short gasp of sympathy, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Blink rubbed his back absently, staring, manicured eyebrows wrinkled, at David from across the circle.

"How did you react when you found out?" Paul asked.

"At first, I was scared," David admitted, his eyes down.

"And how do you feel today?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel right now, at this moment?"

David hesitated. "Okay, I guess. Pretty good."

"That's all?" Paul's eyes scanned David's face.

Again, David paused before speaking. "It's the best I've felt all year, to be honest."

"Then why are you afraid?"

"I'm from New York. Fear's my life." He smiled, the tension in the room broken. Almost immediately, though, his face fell. "Look, Paul, I find some of what you teach a little questionable, because I'm used to relying on intellect. But I'm trying to open up to things that I don't know, because reason says that I should have died three years ago."

Paul nodded, understanding. "That's a good thing to do, David. I'm proud of you. I think that this is a good time to say our mantra." He stood, and the others followed, joining hands.

Jack, who had remained silent through David's speech, scribbling comments and observations in his notebook, looked up at the sound of scraping chairs. He scrambled up as well, though he wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

"There's only us, there's only this," Paul chanted. "Forget, regret, or life is yours to miss." The group joined in, their voices matching flawlessly. "No other road, no other way, no day but today."

Jack could only stare, notebook held limply at his side. The thinly veiled message of living in the moment struck close to him, making him think of his conversation with Racetrack, and of Skittery's dwelling on Swifty's death. Gradually the Life Support group broke up, dropping hands and gathering up coats and belongings. Blink and Mush gave warm hugs to some of the other group members before making their way over to him.

"How did you like the meeting, Jack?" Mush asked quietly. "You seem down or something."

Jack just shook his head numbly. "It's a powerful message that you're getting here," he mumbled.

Blink nodded. "Some of us need to be reminded of our own mortality, I think," he said, taking Jack's hand and leading him over to his bag.

Mush followed. "I'm a little disappointed that Skittery didn't show up," he said cautiously. "I think that he could do with a reminder of that fact."

Jack shook himself from his slump. "Yeah, you're telling me," he said, throwing his notebook into the bag and swinging it onto his shoulder. "I hope that something good happens with him and Dutchy. He deserves it."

"Who's Dutchy?" Mush asked, confused.

Jack shrugged. "Club 82 dancer. He lives below us. I guess he and Skittery had a run-in or something yesterday."

Mush and Blink exchanged amused glances. "I thought he looked a little distracted," Blink giggled.

"That would be why. He invited Skittery to some Christmas brunch thing this morning, but, as far as I know, Skittery turned him down. Pity, he could use a good time if you ask me."

It was Mush's turn to shrug. "Who knows? Maybe he'll get one anyway."

Dutchy laughed out loud as he strolled confidently down the dingy alley. He remembered the enraptured looks of the men he danced for, their eyes following his every enticing movement. In some part of his mind, he felt pity for them, but the bigger, louder part laughed at their blatant longing for him. He didn't want any of that. He had bigger fish to catch.

His shoes echoed against the dilapidated brick walls of the alley, and he skirted puddles of who-knows-what. He didn't have time to change his clothes if he was going to do what he had planned that night. At least, not until later. His flamboyant gold pants were covered by a long leather coat that reached to his knees. From a distance, he looked wealthy and flashy, but the scratches in the leather and the faded fabric of the pants grew more apparent with each step closer that one took.

Dutchy soon arrived at his apartment, and quickly shed his coat and threw his keys onto the table. He barely paused to look in the mirror before climbing out onto the fire escape and up the metal ladder. He knew that Skittery would be there; he always was. Their meeting last night had driven all thoughts of other men from Dutchy's mind, and now he only wanted Skittery. He also knew that once he had him, Skittery would never leave. The dark-haired man's hard shell had been cracked yesterday, when Dutchy got him to spill out all of his secrets without really trying. Dutchy smiled at the recent memory as he scaled the rickety ladder in near silence.

Sure enough, Dutchy saw Skittery sitting on the couch, plucking away at his guitar. He wasn't facing the window, and Dutchy smiled in anticipation. _This is easier than I would have expected, _he thought. His grin widening, Dutchy pushed open the window from the outside and slid into Skittery's apartment. Skittery leaped to his feet and whirled around to face him, stunned. "Want to make me howl tonight?" Dutchy asked seductively, jumping off of the low window ledge to the floor. He crossed the room in a few steps and pressed his mouth against Skittery's. He was almost surprised when Skittery kissed him back, if only for a moment.

Then, as suddenly as the kiss began, Skittery pulled away and spat, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Dutchy couldn't respond. He had had everything planned out, almost down to the few words that would be exchanged. He hadn't predicted Skittery to reject him.

"You come barging in here, interrupting me and my guitar, and what? No, I don't care why. The door is that way." Skittery gestured angrily at it, tossing his guitar onto the couch. "Whatever fire I felt last night, it's gone now. You'll go now if you know what's good for you."

Finding his voice, Dutchy began, "Please, I didn't –"

"No!" Skittery cut him off. "Take your drugs and your candle and go! I can't handle you and your damn whispers tonight. Your eyes, your hair…" Skittery trailed off momentarily, and Dutchy felt a small stab of hope that was immediately wiped away by Skittery's next words. "But I can't. So leave. Goodbye. I'd wish you goodnight, too, if I thought that you would have one." He stomped to the door and threw it open.

Dutchy was frozen to the floor, watching his plan fall to pieces around him. He couldn't move.

Skittery was muttering to himself by the door. Dutchy caught the phrase "I should tell you," but no more than that. Abruptly, Skittery wheeled around again and stalked over to him. "No! Another time, another place. Oh, I can picture it happening now," he hissed, spreading his hands in like a film director seeing his vision before him. "There would be a long embrace, another dance, another play…" he paused. "If you're looking for romance, come back another day." His hands fell to his sides, and he turned away from Dutchy, grabbing his guitar and gazing angrily out the open window.

Dutchy lowered, and murmured, "If I can learn that there is no future with you, the pain of you rejecting me like this will fade. I live each moment like it's my last, like there's no past or future, but I know that there are a thousand more men like you in this city." He lifted his gaze to Skittery's eyes when he heard the other man turn. He saw doubt glisten in Skittery's brown stare, and slowly he began to step towards him.

"There's only us here, you know," Dutchy continued, "There's only this apartment. There's no day but today, right now." He took another pace forward and cautiously reached out a hand to touch Skittery's shoulder.

Immediately he knew that he had made a mistake. Skittery jerked away from him and hissed, "Excuse me if I'm off track here, but if you're as wise as you say you are, why do you need drugs to make you feel good?" He grabbed Dutchy's arm in an iron grip and pushed him away. "Take your needle and get out of my house."

Dutchy felt anger and frustration rising up in him now. He stomped out the door, not giving Skittery the satisfaction of watching him rub his sore arm.

"You know, long ago someone like you might have lit up my heart. But that fire's dead now, and it's never going to light up again," Skittery yelled after him.

Dutchy swung around and faced the dark-haired man standing in the doorway, framed by the dull light of old lamps from inside. "Look, I can't control –" he started to say heatedly.

But Skittery muttered, "Control your temper." Dutchy couldn't tell if he was speaking to him or to himself.

"I can't control my destiny, but I trust my soul –"

"Who says there's a soul?" Skittery spat, crossing his arms and turning away.

"My only goal is just to be –"

"Just leave me alone!" Skittery yelled, lunging at Dutchy.

Before he descended down the stairs, Dutchy decided to give it one last try. "There's no day but today," he said quietly.

"I told you, the fire's out!"

"No day but today," Dutchy repeated.

"Just go. I can't deal with this now. Maybe I'll give you another chance if you come back some other time."

"No day but today," whispered Dutchy, trying to make Skittery see the longing in his eyes. But Skittery would not meet his pleading gaze.

Sighing resignedly, tired of asking for something that would never happen, Dutchy turned and walked back to his empty apartment, alone.


	5. Will I?

**Will I?**

"Hey, Jack, Skittery, it's Specs. I need to talk to you. Call me back when you get this message." The phone beeped at Jack, who scowled at it.

"What could he possibly want to talk about?" Jack muttered, getting up from his desk and stalking across the room to respond to his former roommate's call. With a glance at Skittery, who was sitting on the window ledge staring out over the city absently, Jack sighed and dialed Specs' number with angry jabs. "What do you want, Specs?" He snarled into the phone when Specs answered. He wasn't in the best of moods, due to the fact that he hadn't written anything in ages and he was beginning to regret his decision to ever become a writer.

"Some greeting, Jack," said Specs.

"Best you deserve."

Specs ignored him. "Listen, I have a proposition for you. I know that your rent is due soon, and –"

"I wonder how that could be, seeing as you're the one who said that we had to pay it," Jack said contemptuously, his lip curling with scorn. "Whatever happened to you letting us stay here for free, huh?"

"That's not my fault. I can't control what my father-in-law does with the buildings that he buys." Jack could picture Specs' knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of his expensive hardwood desk.

"Oh yes, wouldn't want to get on the bad side of Lord Pulitzer, now would we?" Smirking, Jack leaned against the counter behind him.

"For your information, it's Spot's fault," Specs hissed into the phone.

"What does Spot have to do with this?" Jack spat, pushing himself up immediately.

"My father-in-law read about his protest idea in the paper. He's pissed, and now he wants the rent that I let slide from last year." The amusement in Specs' voice was obvious, as if he could see exactly how Jack had reacted.

Jack froze, his mind racing. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his ex-boyfriend. "Yeah, so why doesn't he ask you for it? After all, it wasn't that long ago that you lived here too." He decided that reminding Specs of his past might help him and Skittery dodge the rent bullet again.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget? You, me, Mush, Skittery, and our dear friend Spot. How is he, anyway?" Specs reluctantly took the bait Jack had set out for him.

"Who, Spot?"

"Who else?"

"He's fine, I assume."

"You assume? Wouldn't you know?"

"He dumped me, Specs. A while ago." Though Jack didn't want to talk about this, he realized that anything that got Specs off topic would be ideal.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Specs said after a pause that was a heartbeat too long. Jack could have sworn that he heard chuckling. "Well, you know, there is one way that you could get back at him for leaving you."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Get Spot to stop his protest."

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you kidding me? I just helped him fix something the other day. Why don't you just get the police to stop it?"

"My father-in-law doesn't want the police involved if there's another option. Oh, don't worry, I have them on stand-by, but if you could stop his protest quietly…"

"Why would I do that, Specs? Why on earth would I do that?"

"I'm glad you asked." Jack rolled his eyes. "If you convince Spot to stop his concert, I will have it down in writing that you and Skittery and Mush can stay in your apartment, rent-free, for as long as you want. Think about it."

"Why do you even want this junk heap of apartments anyway?"

"It's not me, at least, not entirely. I've convinced my investor –"

"Pulitzer," Jack interjected.

Specs paused. "Well, yes. Anyway, I've convinced my investor that this would be a great place for a cyber studio."

"What the hell is a cyber studio?"

"A state-of-the-art visual, interactive office, Jack! I've told you before." Jack could hear the excitement rising in Specs' voice, and he frowned at the floor. "You can write your news articles, Skittery can write his music, and everyone would be happy!"

"Yeah, everyone but the thousands of people you would displace by building it here." Jack slouched against the wall of his apartment and pressed the phone hard against his ear, his frown deepening.

"Listen to me, Jack. I know what I'm doing. Either you get this done, or you pack up your stuff and find somewhere else to live. I'll get my land one way or the other. My offer expires after dark." Specs hung up abruptly, leaving Jack to stare at the phone in his hand.

"Can you believe this, Skittery?" he asked, dropping the receiver back into its cradle.

"What?" Skittery grunted, glancing at Jack from his place in the windowsill. He seemed reluctant to draw his gaze away from the apartment balcony below.

Jack chose to ignore his friend's unwillingness. "Specs called, and he wants us to stop Spot's protest so that he can build some special cyber office thing."

Skittery sat bolt upright, all traces of reluctance vanishing. "What?" he repeated, outraged. "Who the hell does he think he is? Doesn't he have any respect for us?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. He said that if we can prevent Spot from performing today, he'll let us live here rent-free for as long as we want."

"Didn't he already promise that when he moved out?"

"That's what I thought, but it appears we were wrong." Jack sighed and rubbed his temples.

Skittery got up from the window ledge and began to pace around the apartment. "I can't believe that he would do this. Now, of all times!"

"I guess that you were right, Skittery, when you said that he's changed a lot since he left."

"I wish that I wasn't." Skittery stopped pacing and sat down heavily on the couch. "I have more than enough to deal with without Specs being an ass."

Jack shifted closer to the couch and leaned against a sagging armchair. "Yeah, about that… What happened last night? When Mush and Blink and I came home, we saw that Dutchy was pacing around his landing. Was that because of you?"

Skittery glared at him. "I don't want to talk about it," he said bluntly.

Jack paused for a moment, regarding Skittery closely. "Look, I know that Dutchy's going to be at Spot's protest tonight. You should go too. I don't want to see you pass something up that could be good for you… again."

The anger faded from Skittery's eyes as he turned his head to stare out the window again.

"You'll only regret it." Jack wished that he could give a more convincing argument, but his writer's block extended farther than just his news articles.

Skittery glanced back at his roommate. "I'll live," he muttered.

Jack hesitated, unwilling to accept such an ironic statement. "Right," he said grudgingly. "Well, I'm going to the Life Support meeting with Blink and Mush. I'll see you later." Jack scooped up his bag and his jacket. "Remember what Blink said: Everyone's welcome," he added before pushing the apartment door open, hoping against hope that Skittery would pick up on his hint and come the meeting. He could have sworn that, as the door swung closed, he heard Skittery sigh and saw him reach for his shoes.

Later, Jack stood quietly behind the ring of Life Support attendees. His brown eyes darted from face to haunted face, brows scrunching together as he registered the desperation and anguish in each set of features. Though he held his notebook in one hand and his pencil in the other, he was not recording what he saw before him. It was a far too personal meeting for that, Jack knew. Although this was only his second Life Support meeting, already he felt like he knew the people sitting before him, and he wished with all of his heart that there was something he could do to help them.

"Sometimes I've wondered…" the man named Steve began, but stopped himself almost immediately. Jack turned his attention towards him.

Paul, the group leader, looked at Steve warmly, encouraging him to speak. "Go ahead, Steve. What's on your mind?"

Steve rolled his shoulders back nervously, but continued, "Well, sometimes I've wondered if I'll die with dignity, you know?"

The support group nodded in understanding. "I wonder that too," a woman named Pam answered quietly. "All the time. And I want to know if someone will care when I'm gone."

David, the one who had spoken at the last meeting, took a short breath. "I tell myself every day that tomorrow I'll wake up from this nightmare," he confessed. "And I never do." He grimaced angrily, hopelessly, and looked away from the ring of tired faces. No one responded this time.

Jack's eyes widened at the defeated tone of David's words. He suddenly recognized that he could, in fact, help these people simply by being empathetic and trying to feel a little bit of what they were feeling. Slowly, he placed his notebook onto his bag and stepped into the circle, between Mush and Blink. Mush glanced at him, and Blink placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

Gradually, everyone in the support group linked their hands together. Nobody spoke; they just stood quietly in a circle, some with tears streaming down their cheeks, and tried to encourage their friends with their presence. They stood there together for a long while, supporting each other.

Jack gazed around the circle, looking closely at each face. He could see pain in many, and fear in most. But he also saw faith, hope, and determination, and it warmed his heart. When his traveling eyes reached Blink and Mush, he knew without a doubt that he was looking at the epitome of love; two people, each in complete devotion to the other. He realized that even though they knew that one or the other would die, it didn't matter. They were living in the moment, reveling in but not clinging to each moment that they shared. The recognition brought tears to Jack's eyes, and he hung his head to hide them. Even as the wave of emotion threatened to smother all coherent thoughts, Jack wondered if he had finally found the inspiration that he had been searching for.

The sudden sound of the door opening echoed through the empty, bare room. Jack snapped his head to the side to see who had entered. He could barely believe his eyes when he saw Skittery walking down the aisle between the rows of folding chairs towards him. Skittery said nothing, but slipped into the circle beside him, breaking Blink's grip on his hand. Mush grinned happily at Skittery from Jack's other side, and Blink squeezed his fingers in support of his decision. Jack felt his spirits rise even higher when he saw Skittery smile in return.


	6. Santa Fe

**Santa Fe**

The life support meeting ended without much ceremony. Jack, Skittery, Mush, and Blink all left the building together, and as they walked down the wide stone steps Mush threw his arm over Skittery's shoulder. "I'm really glad that you came, Skitts," he said, giving his roommate a one-armed hug.

Skittery lifted his chin and half-smiled, shrugging away from Mush. "I'm glad I am too, actually," he responded quietly.

"I think you came to the best one," Jack added, coming up beside them, "That one was pretty powerful."

Skittery glanced at him with one eyebrow raised. "How would you know if that was one of the best, Jack? That was only your second."

Mush cracked up and Blink joined him, no doubt drawn in by his partner's infectious laughter. Jack scowled for a moment, but then he, too, was chuckling. Even Skittery smiled.

The four continued down the sidewalk towards the subway station. As they descended down the rickety metal stairs into the shadowy metro, Blink tucked a strand of his hair, this time a short blonde bob, behind his ear and said, "New York City is the center of the universe."

Jack paused and looked over his shoulder at his roommate's boyfriend. "Uh huh," he grunted. "I know it is."

"Times aren't that great right now, but I'm pretty sure they can't get any worse," Blink went on.

"I agree," Mush piped up.

"It's kind of comforting to know that anywhere else you could possibly go outside of New York would be like taking a tropical cruise." Blink giggled. "I know I'm being an optimist, but still."

"I guess it would be as close to a real cruise as I'd ever get," Skittery muttered, only half-joking.

"Lighten up, Skittery," Jack said good-naturedly. Skittery glanced skeptically at him.

"Oh, that sounds nice," Mush replied, cocking his head to one side and staring into the distance, presumably imagining his ship sailing across turquoise water next to islands crowded with palm trees and scantily clad locals.

As the subway clattered into the station, Skittery nudged Mush and he blinked twice, startled. Skittery smirked in amusement, and Mush lunged at him, the smile on his face eliminating any trace of any actual threat. Still smirking, Skittery moved out of the way and onto the train. Blink grabbed Mush's hand and followed him; Jack entered last.

Everyone found a seat, and as the subway lurched forward, Mush said, "You know, I've been thinking."

"That's never a good sign," Skittery teased from his place across the aisle from Mush..

Mush rolled his eyes, and continued, "We should all move to Santa Fe and start a restaurant."

The others simply stared at him, stunned by this request. "We should what?" Jack asked.

"You heard me! Come on, guys, it would be great! I mean, I'm tired of working at schools and grading papers." He glanced around the group. "Nobody's paying us to stay here, so why don't we leave? Santa Fe is sunny and nice, not like here. We could leave New York to the roaches and mice that already pretty much own it." He jumped to his feet and looked eagerly at his friends, Blink in particular.

"Wait, what? You teach?" Blink asked, crossing his legs and looking wide-eyed at his partner. "I didn't know that." Instead of sounding accusatory, Blink seemed to be asking for a reason to Mush's plan. At least, that's why Mush hoped Blink was changing the subject for.

Rolling his eyes again, Mush resumed his seat as the subway floor swayed beneath him, threatening to knock him over. "Yeah. I teach computer-age philosophy. But, as you can well imagine, my students would rather watch TV than learn about philosophy."

"That's America for you." Blink smiled sympathetically.

Mush grimaced. Then his eyes brightened, and he said, "See, this is why you would be great in a restaurant! You could cook, or drum in the waiting area and welcome our guests! And you, Skitts," Mush turned his enthusiasm towards Skittery, who sat beside him. "You could make the menu all rhyme-y and stuff!"

"And what would you do?" Skittery asked, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat.

"I would seat our patrons as they walked in, of course." Mush got to his feet again and stood in the center of the subway car. "We could get rich doing this, guys!" He looked ready to burst in excitement.

Jack and Skittery shared a glance, and both smiled at Mush's hopeful fervor. Blink rose from his seat and wrapped his arms around Mush's neck in a tight embrace. "We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe, Mush. Someday we will, and we'll pack up all of our stuff and fly away to New Mexico and live happily ever after there," Blink whispered into Mush's ear. "Just you and me."

Mush smiled widely and put an arm around his partner's waist, drawing him closer. "Yeah, we will. We'll forget this cold bohemian hell when we're there, too. I can't wait to see all of those tumbleweeds and prairie dogs."

"Yeah," Blink sighed in agreement. "That'll be the day." Gently, he guided Mush to his empty seat and plopped down beside him. Blink rested his head on Mush's shoulder, and Mush leaned back in the ragged subway seat to stare at the graffiti-covered ceiling. Skittery and Jack, sitting on the other side of the car, again exchanged a look, each wondering if their friends' dreams would ever become a reality.

The rest of the subway ride passed uneventfully. Skittery and Jack lapsed into a conversation about Spot and his protest, which subsequently led to Jack jumping to his feet the moment the subway ground to a halt and heading out the doors, yelling that he was late for Spot's sound check. He paused in front of the stairway leading up into the dingy streets only to ask if Skittery would accompany him to the stage. Shrugging, Skittery went to join him, leaving Blink and Mush to walk home alone.

Mush and Blink left the train more leisurely than their friends had, allowing most of the other passengers to exit before them. As they climbed the stairs, Blink tripped and would have fallen to his knees if Mush hadn't caught his arm.

"Thanks Mush," Blink murmured, clinging to him as he rose to his feet.

"Is it the…?" Mush trailed off, concern in his eyes. Blink nodded once, shortly, and rose to his feet.

"It's getting worse, you know," the blonde man said quietly, the amusement that usually brightened his voice gone.

Mush felt his heart beat faster as a mix of fear and anger took hold of him and pulsed though his body. As it boiled over, he cried, "What did you ever do to deserve this, Blink? You are the best, kindest person I have ever met."

Blink shook his head, but pasted a grin onto his face. "Mush, I don't want to talk about this right now. Not today. Let's enjoy this moment, please." His gaze was pleading.

Mush looked back at his lover, and forced his frustration to the back of his mind, obliging Blink's request. "Don't we always?" he asked quietly.

As they emerged from the subway tunnel, Mush pulled his vest closer to his body and murmured, "It's getting colder." Blink gave him a worried glance, but then smiled as he took Mush's hand in his own and led him down the street towards a display of jackets. Mush grinned widely in return, Blink's failing health once again pushed away, and squeezed his partner's fingers happily.

The coat Mush picked wasn't expensive, but it would keep out the worst of the cold. As he shrugged into it, Mush said, "Thanks, Blink. You didn't need to do that, you know."

"I know, Mush, but if you're going to live in my house, I have to be your shelter." Blink beamed brightly at his boyfriend, and twined his fingers tightly with Mush's.

"You know that I can't pay you back, though, right?"

"All you need to pay me with are a thousand kisses. That would be more than enough for me."

Mush's eyes met Blink's, and he reached up slowly with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair from Blink's cheek. "I've got those to spare. I don't have much else, but I do have those."

They set off down the street together, walking hand in hand through the cold winter sunlight. After a moment, Blink said quietly, "You know, I think they meant it when they said you can't buy love."

A small frown creased Mush's forehead as he looked over at Blink. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't buy it, but we prove that you can rent it." Blink smiled warmly, love shining from his uncovered eye.

Mush blinked in understanding, and lowered his head slightly. "Our whole lives I've wanted someone like you, but I still feel like all of our time together is being rented and I'll have to give it back soon." He didn't look at Blink again, but kept his eyes trained to the front.

"Nothing and no one can take away what we share, Mush. I don't care who they say they are. I love you, and I always will." Blink said after a moment's thought. He slowed, bringing Mush to a halt beside him under a leafless tree. The noise of traffic was almost overwhelming the noise of their conversation, and Blink could tell that this would be a talk in which every word was important. Slowly, Blink's eye darted over Mush's face, taking in his lover's solemn features. "Listen to me. I'll be here if you're cold and lonely and you don't have any money. I'll be here for you when you lose your coat again. I'll be your castle, if you'll be my king." Blink smiled, but his gaze remained serious.

Mush took Blink's hands and held them tightly. "I'll stay with you, too, Blink. I'll be your castle's moat, if not your king, and you'll be my queen. I'll keep you warm when you're worn out and tired, and," he paused, his voice threatening to crack under the strain of his emotion. Taking a quick breath, and pulling Blink's hands to his chest, he continued, "I'll be here when you aren't." Mush cupped Blink's face and tenderly wiped away the single tear that dripped from his eye.

"I love you, Mush. Never forget that," Blink murmured softly, breaking away from Mush's hands to embrace him fully. "Never in my whole life have I experienced something as true as this."

"I haven't either, and I will always love you," Mush answered, holding Blink's body against his own. A cold breeze nipped at Mush's bare neck, but the warmth radiating from his lover kept it from bothering him. Though the sidewalk was crowded with people going to and from their various activities, Mush and Blink felt isolated in their own world, where only the two of them existed. And for them, that was more than enough.


	7. Over the Moon

**Over the Moon**

Skittery flinched as his footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall that housed the stage. Jack was long gone, off helping Racetrack and Spot set up finalities for the show. Before he left, Jack had advised his sullen roommate to look for Dutchy. Skittery had scowled at him when he said it, but as he wandered through the darkness he realized that he was looking for the blonde man anyway, whether his conscience wanted him to or not.

A metal garbage can full of burning paper belched smoke into the air, obscuring Skittery's view of the people around him. He waved his arm, clearing it, and through the empty space he saw a flash of blonde hair and a pair of blue eyes gleam guiltily as Dutchy passed a wad of bills into the hand of a large man, who smirked happily and passed a small package to him in return.

Anger flared through Skittery's mind and body as he recognized the drug dealer. His name was Ed, but everyone on the street called him Weasel. Skittery's eyes met Weasel's, and the anger in Skittery drove him forward to stand between Dutchy and the hefty man.

Weasel leered at him, and growled, "Hey, lover boy, you trying to steal my client?"

Skittery glared back coldly. "You didn't miss me, and you wouldn't miss him. Look around, Weasel, you've got plenty of customers here."

Weasel's beady black eyes flashed around the room, and he snorted irritably. Skittery longed to start a fight with the man, well, one of the men anyway, who had ruined his life, but Dutchy placed his hand on Skittery's shoulder and led him away before a brawl could begin. When they were out of Weasel's earshot, Dutchy murmured, "What are you doing here, Skittery? I thought you weren't interested in me."

Skittery paused and faced the blonde. "I needed to talk to you, and I still do." He hesitated and bit his lip nervously. "Look, about last night… I'm sorry. I just –"

Dutchy stopped him. "Forget it, Skittery. Really." His eyes darted across Skittery's face.

Skittery shook his head once. "No, I was really out of line. Can I make it up to you?"

"How?"

"Well, a bunch of us are going to get together after Spot's protest at Tibby's. Would you…" he faltered, gazing into Dutchy's eyes. He saw nothing but interest there, and took strength from it. "Would you like to come with me?"

Dutchy's face lit up in a beaming smile. "Sure," he said, "I'd like that."

Skittery smiled in response, and nodded to the doorway of the stage, indicating that they should enter. Dutchy led the way, checking over his shoulder to see if Skittery was following. He always was.

The crowd thickened when they got closer to the stage. Noticing Mush and Blink through the throng of people, Skittery managed to catch Mush's eye and waved to him. Mush's face lit up and he waved back, nudging Blink, who beamed at them. Skittery and Dutchy made their way through the mob to join their friends, and they greeted each other warmly.

Suddenly, a low growling noise began to reverberate through the hall, originating from outside. Skittery frowned at the sound, but then he saw a single light beam piercing through the shadows, and he just had time to whisper "Oh, no" before a motorcycle roared to life and came spinning through the assembly.

Spot wore no helmet, so everyone could see his face clearly. He wore tight leather pants and a slick black leather jacket decorated with chains. His features were cold and impassive, but those who were close enough to him could see the excitement in his eyes. He drove to the base of the stage and strutted up the stairs, a solitary spot light trained on him. With one movement, he slung his jacket off and tossed it into the screaming crowd, revealing a clean white wife beater adorned with silver studs beneath it. Their thunderous cries brought a small smirk to Spot's aloof face, and through the crisscrossed patterns of light beams he met Race's eyes in the light tower and received a smile and an eye roll in return.

Spot absently considered his relationship with Race as he listened to the roar of the crowd. It hadn't taken him long to forget Jack, mostly because he met Race when he and Jack were still together. Overall, he thought that he was happier with the short Italian man than he had ever been with Jack, though he still cared for the struggling journalist in some part of his mind. _Enough to ask him for favors, anyway, _Spot thought with a smirk before he pushed away all images of his ex in preparation for the protest speech.

Ready to begin, Spot held up his hands for silence. The crowd obeyed instantly. He snapped his fingers, and the stage lights burst into life. His smirk grew minutely, pleased at how well the evening had progressed so far. He took a breath and said into the lone microphone in front of him, "Last night, I had a dream." The mob assembled before him was silent, tense. He continued in the same tone, "I was in a desert, and this desert was called 'Cyber-land'."

As he looked out over the people, he noticed the policemen lining the back wall. _So Specs kept his promise, _he thought coolly, _for once in his life. _"It was hot in Cyber-land, and I was thirsty," he went on, abandoning the thought. "But I had no water." He paused, staring at the assembly. "Then, all of a sudden, this cow appeared in front of me." He had carefully planned his speech, and had rehearsed it many times. "Yeah, a cow." He saw people in the audience sneak furtive, questioning glances at each other, and a grin parted his lips.

A thin sliver of anger pierced Spot when he saw the stooped figure of Pulitzer shambling through the crowd, followed closely by Specs and, Spot figured, Pie Eater, Specs' boyfriend. But instead of letting this bother him, Spot continued as if he hadn't seen them. "So I asked this cow, I said, 'Hey. You got anything to drink? I'm parched.' She just stared at me, and said that she was forbidden to give me any milk. I asked her why, and she said that people in Cyber-land only drink…" he paused, surveying the people spread out in front of him. "Diet Coke." He smiled as laughter blossomed through the shadowy air.

All of a sudden, directed from Race's tower, the lights changed and a crescent-moon shape lowered itself to hang above the stage. Spot's voice grew deeper, and he cried, "She told me that the only thing to do was to jump over the moon!" He snapped his head to the side and threw out his arm, pointing to a light that sprang to life at once, illuminating his right in its white glow and leaving his left side in shadow. He grabbed the mike in one hand and ripped it from its stand. "She told me that that was the only way out. I said that I couldn't spend another minute in this hell-hole." Spot shook his head in mock despair. "I've got to get out of here," he said in a low, powerful voice. "I've got to find a way out of here! That's what I told that cow, and she said again that the only thing to do was to jump over the moon."

"Then," Spot continued, the contempt in his voice clear, "A scrawny little bulldog came trotting up to me, drooling all over creation for his beloved 'master'. That bulldog's name was Specs." Spot turned his vivid blue gaze to where Specs and Pie Eater stood with Pulitzer between him, and Race followed his stare with a beam of light. The crowd booed, and Spot smiled. "And though this Specs once had morals, he abandoned them to become the stuffy little lap dog of a powerful revolutionary." Spot snorted, obviously unimpressed, and said, "Well this bulldog, he says to me, 'Why would anyone want to leave Cyber-land? You know, that cow's been having some trouble with her milk lately. Maybe that's why she wants to leave. But the only way out is up!'" Spot waited for the laughter and boos to die down before he continued. "But that cow, she says that she can jump it, that she could get out of Cyber-land with me, if only I would lighten her load a little."

Spot heard the crowd's laughter turn to confusion, and he answered their unasked question, "So I got down on my knees and I drank some of her milk, and let me tell you that it was the sweetest I had ever tasted. And then she told me to get on, and I did." With a sweep of his arm, he signaled to Race to raise the moon, and he cried, "So off we went, rearing into the sky, and we jumped into orbit!" He literally leaped into the air, and landed back on the stage gracefully, like a cat. His eyes glowed with excitement as he pointed to the other white light, the one yet to be lit on his left. It, too, burst into life, and the entire stage became awash with crystalline beams of whiteness. The silver on his shirt threw sparks into the eyes of the people watching. "Jump with me, people!" He yelled, feeling the growing intensity of the crowd. "Jump over the moon!" A few people leaped up, followed by a few more. "Come on," Spot called, jumping himself, "Jump!"

The few people who began to jump influenced others around them to jump as well. Spot watched as his friends Mush, Skittery, and Jack joined in, and he grinned. He didn't smile often, but he was feeding off of the crowd's buoyant energy, reveling in it. As he watched, he realized that there were others around his former roommates that he didn't know. An effeminate man in a dark, bobbed wig was hand-in-hand with Mush, jumping with him, and a blonde man who Spot didn't recognize stood close to Skittery's side, pressing against him each time they landed. Spot jerked his chin up proudly, pleased that his friends seemed happy.

Breaking his attention away from the people he knew, Spot saw that the entire audience was bouncing up and down, drawn in by his shouts and their own friends. And, nearly just as soon, the police were spreading themselves through the crowd, stopping people left and right. Spot noticed, and a sense of fury lodged itself in his head. He yelled into the microphone, "Leave them alone!" His blue eyes blazed angrily. "They aren't hurting anyone." He had been quite satisfied with the results of his protest, and he wasn't about to let a bunch of officials with clubs in the pudgy hands ruin it.

The policemen paid him no mind, but continued to stop people from jumping. The crowd wasn't pleased, and shouts of anger quickly filled the air. Spot saw an officer grab Mush from behind, and watched as Blink was pummeled to the ground when he tried to save his partner. The anger in Spot's eyes grew colder with each passing second, and was mixed with alarm as the fighting intensified. "I said knock it off!" He shouted, waving his arms to capture the officers' attention and drag it away from his audience. But again, the police ignored his cries.

Everywhere, broken bottles littered the floor and nightsticks gleamed in the stage lights as the police battered the people who had come to support Spot's cause. His yelling wasn't stopping anyone, and Spot realized that his peaceful rally had been replaced by a bloody brawl. Making a quick decision, he leaped from the stage, and, seeing that Blink and Mush had escaped from the policemen and were running out the door, followed closely by Skittery and the blonde man, he fled. Race, he knew, could fend for himself, and he soon noticed him running for the exit. Jack, notebook in hand, was standing by the door, waving people towards it. Spot bolted towards him and pushed him out, not wanting him to be trampled in the rush of escaping people. Their eyes met, and instantly both of them knew that the other's disappointment was rivaled only by their own.


	8. La Vie Boheme

**La Vie Boheme**

"That bastard," Spot hissed, kicking at an empty paper cup on the sidewalk as he passed it. "He got exactly what he wanted. He ruined the entire protest, and I know that some people got arrested…" he trailed off, leaving the end of his sentence to hover angrily in the frozen winter air.

Race, walking beside him, patted his shoulder with one gloved hand. "I'm sure that they'll let them go in a few hours. They didn't do anything; the police won't spend valuable time and money holding people who aren't guilty."

"Yeah, and 'guilty' is your specialty, right?" Spot snorted and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. Race leveled an angry gaze at him but didn't respond.

The two walked on in silence, sliding between pools of artificial light and dark shadows before they arrived at the entrance to Tibby's Café, where they were greeted warmly by Mush, Skittery, and their significant others. Mush introduced the man in the short black wig as Blink, indicating his sparkling silver eye patch with a cheerful smile and a wink. Skittery was less eager to introduce his own date, a blonde man by the name of Dutchy. Dutchy smiled warmly at both Spot and Race, and the latter nodded to him in return. Spot, on the other hand, gave him a quick glance from head to foot and raised his eyebrows at Skittery, who blushed and looked away.

Mush, with his arm around Blink's waist, held open the door to the café and beckoned his friends through. Before Skittery, the last in line, entered, though, he asked, "Hey! Where's Jack? I thought that he was right behind me when we left the protest."

Mush frowned, and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know where he went, but, you know, he knows that we're here and we know that he's safe." Skittery didn't look convinced, so Mush added quietly, "And you're not doing any good standing out there in the cold. You can wait for him inside, too." Blink nodded.

Sighing, and casting a glance over his shoulder, Skittery stepped into the warm building, only to be greeted by a small, wrinkled old waiter waving his arms angrily at the new-coming group. "No!" he shrieked. "No! Please don't stay here tonight. You sit here all night and you never order anything. It's not good for business, you know." The man scowled and angrily pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose with one finger.

"Come on, now, Kloppman," Mush said as he squeezed in behind Skittery, his eyes growing wide with feigned hurt. "Just last week Blink and I came in here and split a salad. Remember?"

Kloppman's scowl deepened, making the wrinkles on his face stand out sharply in contrast. "Yeah, I remember. And I remember that you couldn't pay."

Before Mush could object, the door slammed open, revealing a snow-speckled Jack with a wide grin on his face. "Well you know what, Kloppman? We can pay tonight." He took a fan of bills out of his jacket pocket and waved them in front of the decrepit waiter's nose, much to the delight of his friends.

Blink shot a beaming grin at Jack and murmured, "Where'd you get all this, Jack? Where'd you go after you left?"

Jack's grin modified itself into an amused smirk. "Well, let's just say that tomorrow's headline will be a good one. Spot, consider yourself front-page news."

Spot's icy blue eyes opened wide with shock, and Race's jaw dropped. Regaining his composure almost immediately, Spot said, "How do you know this, Jacky-boy?"

Jack almost winced at Spot's use of his old nickname, but he shook it off and replied, "I sold it to the Village Voice with a promise of a front-page news story." He grinned hesitantly.

Spot still looked a bit skeptical, but his lips twitched up at the corners into a small smile and he took a step closer to Jack, raising his hand and trailing it over the front of Jack's jacket. "Thanks, Jacky-boy. I owe you one, I guess." His eyes betrayed the depth of his gratitude, but before anything more suggestive could happen, Race stepped between them with a glare in Jack's direction and a protective glance at Spot.

"So let him buy us dinner tonight," Race said, slinging his arm around Spot's waist and drawing him close, much to the disapproval of Kloppman the waiter. Without missing a beat, Race turned to him and smirked. "We're brothers," he growled, shifting his hand so that it brushed Spot's ass. "Close." Kloppman looked at the pair in disgust for a moment before turning away and leading the group into the restaurant itself.

"Please don't move the tab –" Kloppman began, but he was cut off by the sounds of laughter as friends greeted each other and the scraping of tables across the hardwood floor. The wrinkled old waiter put his hand to his forehead and sighed. Then he removed a small notebook from his pocket and began to take orders. "What'll you have?" he grunted at Mush, who glanced over the menu once before responding.

"I'll try this," he said, pointing at an item on the menu. Blink glanced over at him and gave him a quizzical look. Mush shrugged, and Blink smiled and looked away at his own menu. Kloppman made the rounds, and when he came back to Mush he called out, repeating the orders.

"So that's five miso soup, four seaweed salads, three soy burgers, two tofu dog platters, thirteen orders of fries, and," he paused with a sly glance at Mush, "one pasta with meatless balls."

Everyone stopped their conversations and looked at Mush, who sank down minutely in his chair and muttered, "It tastes the same."

Dutchy let out a snort of laughter and said, "Yeah, sure it does. If you close your eyes, I guess." The crowd laughed; even Spot let out a chuckle.

Kloppman chortled with glee, and asked, "Is that all?"

As one thunderous voice, the people at the table called, "Wine and beer!"

Jack stood up from his chair and shouted, "Yeah! We're commemorating a life-changing event here." With a moment's hesitation, he jumped onto the tabletop. "And this event needs alco —" He stopped, cut off by the opening of the door. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Specs himself, the man of the hour."

Everyone at the table turned their attention to the entryway, and glared coldly at the new arrival. Specs seemed unfazed. "Listen, guys," he said, shrugging off his elegant hound's-tooth jacket. "None of that was my fault."

"Oh, right," Jack laughed, though there was a sliver of bitter anger buried deep in the sound. "The cops were just there to see the show. You've got quite a nerve to be coming around here after what just happened." He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows skeptically at his former roommate.

"I never wanted it to get out of control, though."

At Specs' remark, Spot leaped to his feet. "Go to hell, you mangy son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled, struggling against Race's death-grip on his arm. "You practically begged for it to get out of control, asshole." He shook his partner off, but instead of jumping at Specs he sat down again and ran his fingernails across the glazed tabletop angrily, scratching at the glass like a trapped animal.

Specs regarded him with narrowed eyes behind his rimless glasses, but didn't respond to his outburst.

"So why did Pie Eater miss the show, huh, Specs?" That was Mush, piping up innocently from his place opposite Spot and Race.

Specs turned his gaze to his other former roommate. "There was a death in the family."

Skittery and Mush exchanged an amused glance, and Blink said curiously, "Who died?"

"Our Akita, Evita."

Silence filled the table as Mush, Skittery, Jack, and Blink all stared at each other, trying to contain their laughter.

Specs misinterpreted their stifled giggles, and his eyes narrowed. "You can laugh, but remember that I'm the one attempting to do some good here. Or maybe you want a neighborhood where people piss on your doorstep every night, I don't know." He scowled at Jack. "Listen, Jack. Your fantasy of this Bohemian, struggling-artist life-style is dead, and there's nothing you can do about it." With that, he turned and stomped out of the café, though he had just arrived.

Jack stared after him for a moment before laughing loudly. "Well, then, I guess we have another thing to celebrate here tonight. Everybody raise their glasses to the Death of Bohemia!" He lifted his whiskey into the air, saluting an invisible flag with his other hand. The rest of the people around him laughed as well, and followed suit. Smiling, Jack gulped down the shot. "Would anyone like to say a few words to honor this tragic demise?" He glanced around, and no one moved. "All right. I guess I'll begin." He took a deep, phony breath before leaping onto the table again and throwing out his arms. "Dearly beloved," he began, "We gather here to say our goodbyes. And so, to honor the passing of our late great daughter of Mother Earth, this much-adored Bohemia, let us celebrate our own Bohemian lives! La vie boheme!"

His call generated others, and soon the whole restaurant was cheering. Jack grinned and refilled his glass before sitting back down and sloppily placing his feet on the table.

Slowly, Mush stood up, a grin playing behind his lips. "I would like to say a few words. Like the great Bohemia, I would like to honor the passing of other greats, like hand-crafted beers, and emotion, and vacations!" He lifted his glass into the air, and was greeted with a loud cheer. He sat down, his smile breaking out, and was replaced by Race.

"Well, I'm no good at eulogies, but I'd just like to propose a toast…" he paused, looking around with a playful gleam in his eyes, "to men, marijuana, and sodomy!" He clanked his glass with Spot, who let out a burst of real laughter, and resumed his seat to the joyous shouts of his friends and the sounds of other glasses knocking together.

Others came and went, offering their own ideas of Bohemia. Each was greeted and received as warmly as the last. Many glasses of booze were ingested that night, much to the chagrin of Kloppman the waiter. As time went on, though, and the darkness outside grew thicker, Dutchy was beginning to have second thoughts about coming to this party. He was having fun, sure, but he noticed that Skittery hadn't once said anything to him in particular. Making a decision, Dutchy tapped Skittery lightly and murmured, "Did I do something wrong?"

Skittery peered at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I didn't come here to be ignored all night, you know."

Skittery bit his lip. "Look, Dutchy, I've been trying. Honestly. It's just that I have some… baggage that I have to take care of."

Dutchy regarded him closely. "Life's too short to be worrying about that kind of stuff, you know." An isolating bubble seemed to form around them, blocking all other noises. Taking a deep breath, Dutchy made another decision. "And I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine."

Skittery opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the sound of a beeper going off nearby. "Where's that coming from?" he grunted, scowling around.

Dutchy blushed a brilliant crimson and reached down to his pocket, shutting off his pager. "Sorry," he said, "It's mine."

"What's it for?" Skittery asked carefully, regarding the blonde man closely.

Dutchy met his gaze solidly, though a nervousness mixed with pride swirled beneath his blue eyes. "AZT reminder," he said, hesitant to let emotion color his response.

Skittery froze, staring first at Dutchy's hip where the pager was clipped and then at his face. "You?" he breathed, reaching out with one hand to touch Dutchy's arm. "You?" he repeated, as if unwilling to believe his luck.

"Me," Dutchy answered simply, taking Skittery's hand in his own. "Come on; we need to talk." The blonde man rose and, towing Skittery behind him, made his way out of Tibby's back door into the snowy alley behind it.


End file.
